


Longest Road

by speakingwosound (sev313)



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Friendship, M/M, POV Outsider, non-endgame Jon Lovett/Ronan Farrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-25 01:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17111861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/speakingwosound
Summary: “Honestly?  Friends would be nice.  It’s harder to find a good Halo partner than a good lay, anyway.”





	Longest Road

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [psa_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/psa_2018) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Jonjon from Spencer's POV. What would the Jonjon dynamic look like from the perspective of someone who knows thoroughly all of Lovett's strengths and insecurities?

**-1. Williams College, 2001**

“In like a lion, out like a lamb is a misnomer,” Samir complains. “It’s the end of March and I’m still freezing my balls off every time I leave the goddamned dorm.”

“Good thing we rarely leave then.” Spencer holds up his nearly-empty PBR. “Want another?”

Samir shakes his bottle. It’s still half full, but he nods, anyway.

Spencer pushes through the crowd of freshman filling his and Samir’s dorm room. It was meant to be a small party, a few guys from Spencer’s Intro to Computer Science class and some of Samir’s friends from Model UN, but it’s a Friday night early in the semester in rural Massachusetts. News of a party travels fast.

Spencer pushes open the window and reaches his hand out to grab two beers from the fire escape. His hand hits something soft and puffy, and he makes a small noise that has nothing on the yelp from the other man.

“Hey.” The man is short, with a head full of tangled curls. There’s an entire pizza box open in his lap. “Watch where you’re groping.”

“I-” Spencer frowns and, already shivering, slides through the door and out onto the fire escape. He nods at the pizza. “Were you planning on sharing?”

“What?” He motions to a ripped off piece of foam in his ear.

Spencer reaches forward, digging out the ear plug and dropping it into the snow with a frown. “Who wears ear plugs to a party?”

“Someone who still wants to hear things when he hits his thirties. I have plans for my mid-life crisis and my hearing is kinda essential for that.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Spencer shrugs.

The man glares at the plastic ear plug sticking out of the snow. “What did you so desperately need to ask me?”

Spencer nods at the pizza. “Were you planning on sharing?”

He frowns. “No.”

Spencer reaches for the beer he’d come out for and clicks it open. “It’s customary to bring things to parties.”

He holds up the slice of pizza he’s eating. Grease is running down his knuckles.

“To share,” Spencer finishes, slowly.

He shrugs, holding out his greasy hand. “I’m Lovett. Jon.”

“Spencer,” Spencer says, slowly, not taking his hand. “This is my party.”

Lovett raises an eyebrow, “I guess, in that case,” and sighs, deeply, as he opens the box and tilts it towards Spencer. “In exchange for not kicking me out.”

“I wasn’t-” Spencer frowns, taking a slide of cold pizza. The dining hall had closed hours ago and his stomach has been protesting the smell of pepperoni. “Do you want a beer?”

Lovett frowns. “I’d really rather something that tastes less like piss and gets me there faster, but, if that’s all you’ve got.”

Spencer hands over a can of PBR. He makes sure to choose one that was face-down. “You don’t really get a say in the alcohol at parties you’re not invited to.”

“It’s college,” Lovett shrugs. “It’s all one long string of uninvited party guests. Or-” Lovett glances away, down the fire escape, to the dumpsters caked in mud and snow. “Or so I thought. Hasn’t really turned out that way.”

Spencer laughs. “Maybe you should try getting invited to parties instead?”

“I never know when I’m going to want a break from Halo, so-” Lovett turns back to watch Spencer fold his cold pizza. “RSVPs are impractical.”

Spencer snaps his fingers. “That’s why you look familiar- You’re the kid with the jerry-rigged cable subscription. My roommate, Samir, he was trying to sign up for your Halo competition.”

Lovett glances back into the room, his eyes lighting on Samir. “Oh, yes, I remember that kid. He really wasn’t very good.”

Spencer leans closer and drops his voice. “He’s really not. Me, on the other hand-”

Lovett closes the pizza box and wipes his hands in the snow. “Wanna put your money where your mouth is?”

Spencer looks from Lovett - Lovett, who’s biting his lower lip, his eyes soft and brown under his glasses, incongruous with the smirked tilt of his lips - back into the party. “This is kind of my party.”

Lovett shrugs and stands. “Suit yourself.”

Lovett steps around him and before Spencer knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbing Lovett’s wrist. His skin is cold under Spencer’s hand, but Spencer tightens his grip. “You can’t leave,” Spencer says, too quickly, speaking more from the six-pack of PBR he’s already drunk than anything else, “you’re the only interesting thing at this party.”

Lovett tilts his head to the side, biting his lip again. Thoughtful and slow and Spencer could have stopped him, really, if he’d been a little quicker.

But then Lovett is kissing him. He tastes like cheap mozzarella and even cheaper beer. His lips are cold and chapped and he pushes his tongue into Spencer’s mouth, insistent and demanding. He’s still wearing a damn ear plug in his other ear as Spencer raises a hand to push his curls off his forehead.

“Hey,” Spencer says, quietly, when they part. “I’m not, ahh- It’s not that you’re not-” He motions down Lovett’s puffy jacket and his dark, skinny jeans. “- attractive, but I date women.”

Lovett takes a step back. His cheeks are flushed. “Your loss.”

For one, ridiculous moment, Spencer agrees, “it is.” Then he offers, “I’m still up for kicking your ass at Halo. If that’s still on the table?”

“Honestly?” Lovett rubs his hands together in the cold, then reaches for the door. “It’s harder to find a good Halo partner than a good lay.”

“This might just turn out beneficially for both of us, then,” Spencer chuckles as he follows Lovett back inside.

**1\. Washington, DC, 2009**

“Can I get-” Spencer trails off as, for the third time, the bartender turns on him as if she can’t even see him. He finishes, “a beer,” and drops his hand.

“Here, let me help.” 

Spencer feels him before he sees him, body heat and charisma rolling off of him in waves. He has ridiculous, buzzed hair and low hanging dress pants, a red, white, and blue tie hanging loose around his neck that screams 'I work for the Obama administration.'

He smiles at Spencer’s scrutiny, and it should feel solicitous, but it just looks charming and makes Spencer feel like he's the center of his world. "What do you want?"

"Beer," Spencer trips, then steadies his tongue. "An IPA. Whatever they've got."

He nods and leans over the counter. The waitress comes over immediately, batting her eyelashes. Her face falls a little at his order, but then picks up again when he hands the beer to Spencer.

Spencer holds out a $20 but he shakes his head. "First round's on me. I'm Jon by the way."

"Spencer. Thanks, for the drink and for, you know-" he motions to the crowded bar and the disinterested waitress.

"Yeah." Jon laughs sheepishly. "There's a hierarchy to service in DC. The closer you are to the Capitol, the worse it gets."

Spencer's not quite sure if he means based on looks or based on political capital but, either way, Spencer assumes, Jon has it in spades. He smiles and takes a long swig of his beer. 

Jon sips his gin and tonic through the straw. "You don't work in politics."

It's not a question, but Spencer shakes his head. "Hollywood. I'm just here for a few days, staying on a friend's couch." He narrows his eyes. "He dragged me to this ridiculous party of political suits."

Jon laughs, his head thrown back and the laughter shaking through his throat. It's unfairly long and tan. "And where's your friend now?"

Spencer surveys the room, catching sight of Lovett holding court in a far corner. The top button of his shirt is undone and there's no sign of the tie he'd shoved into his backpack that morning. He's wearing khaki shorts and keeps wiping his hands on them the way he does when he's nervous. There's a young man in a bowtie, dark haired and looking impossibly young - if Spencer has to guess, Treasury intern - as he gazes, enraptured, up at Lovett.

Spencer looks back at Jon. "He's trying to pick up."

Jon raises an eyebrow. "Remind me not to use you as a wingman ever."

"Was that on the table?" Spencer raises an eyebrow and Jon flushes.

"I try to keep everything on the table for as long as possible," Jon says, as he gives up on the straw and starts sipping from the rim.

"Um," Spencer starts, when he feels an arm slung around his shoulder. He can smell Lovett's pits and the Vodka on his breath before Spencer turns his head to look at him.

"You found Jon," Lovett exclaims, happily. He reaches across Spencer to steal Jon's drink from his hand. 

Spencer glances at Jon, who lets the drink go easily, but is now twisting his fingers in front of him, all sense of the calm, overly-assured Jon from ten minutes ago gone.

“Jon?” Spencer asks, narrowing his eyes.

Lovett scrunches his nose. "What? I haven't come up in conversation yet? I'm offended. Spencer, this is my boss, Jon Favreau."

" _The_ Spencer?" Jon says, teasingly, but he does hold his hand out this time. His palm is sweaty and his hand is shaking a little.

Spencer laughs. "My reputation precedes me."

Jon snorts. "Not well enough, apparently."

Lovett rolls his eyes. "What have you two been talking about if it wasn't about me?"

"I think," Spencer says, as Jon rolls his eyes, "that Jon was trying to pick me up."

Jon splutters into the drink he's still sharing with Lovett. He's red all the way into the open v of his shirt. "I was not."

Lovett frowns and snatches the drink back. "Jon's straight."

Jon flushes even redder, looking down at his scuffed dress shoes, but not before Spencer catches the flick of his eyes towards Lovett.

"I don't think that's the problem," Spencer says, slowly.

"It's definitely- There's definitely-” Jon tries, stumbling over his words.

Lovett frowns at Jon, then down into Jon’s glass. “This is empty.”

“That’s because you didn’t buy it,” Spencer tells him, then, “what happened to the Treasury intern?”

“How did you-?” Lovett starts. Jon flinches, but Lovett barrels on. “He was young. Too young. I really do need some alcohol.”

“And maybe some food,” Jon offers, his face melting in relief. "You wanna go to that new Thai place on 14th? Tommy said it's pretty good."

Lovett's face brightens. "Make it a gyro and I'm in."

Jon nods, reaching for his suit jacket and pushing Lovett ahead of him, his fingers light on Lovett's lower back.

Spencer raises his eyebrow as he follows them.

**2\. Los Angeles, 2011**

LAX is crowded. LAX is always crowded.

Spencer had even planned to arrive early, but owing to a last minute flurry of requests at work and judging by the string of increasingly-annoyed texts from Lovett, it hadn’t been early enough.

He finally pulls up to the curb at Terminal 2, already reaching for his phone to text him, when he sees Lovett sitting on a stone bench. His phone is pressed to his ear as he laughs, his dimples wide and open.

Spencer rolls down the passenger window. “Hey, midlife crisis. This bus of East Coast transplants is leaving in 5, 4, 3, 2-”

Lovett gets up, still chuckling into his phone and kicking his suitcase in front of him. “Sorry, Ronan, yeah, he’s here, I’ve gotta … Yeah,” Lovett’s smile softens. “Yeah, I miss you, too.” He shoves his phone into his pocket. “You’re late.”

Spencer raps his thumbs against this steering wheel. “Consider this your first lesson on LA traffic.”

“And,” Lovett continues, as he shoves his suitcase into the backseat with a grunt, “not very helpful.”

“Consider that,” Spencer shrugs, “a lesson on LA politeness.”

“Also,” Lovett finishes, as he pulls himself into the passenger seat and drops his backpack at his feet, “I’m too young for a midlife crisis.”

“Quarterlife crisis,” Spencer concedes. “They’re all the rage these days. How you must hate being such a cliche.”

Lovett drops his hand out of the window and glares at him. “Fuck you, _cliche_. I left DC in the middle of the night, like the wind.” Lovett glances out at the palm trees moving slowly by as they inch onto the 405. “Besides, this whole stupid leap of faith was your idea. You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

Spencer glances behind his shoulder to switch lanes. “From what I heard, that’s not my job anymore.” 

There’s a thump from the seat next to him and he looks back in time to see the bright flush on Lovett’s cheeks as he bends to grab his phone from the foot well. “A little warning,” he grumbles as he straightens back up, his phone flipping precariously between his fingers like a security quarter.

Spencer raises an eyebrow. “Your laugh was wide enough to be seen by keyhole satellite. You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

Lovett pushes his feet onto the dashboard. He’s still wearing his worn out blue and green Adidas and Spencer thinks about telling him off, but it’s a company car and he relishes charging the cleaning bill to CAA. Lovett mumbles into his knees. “What is with the personal attacks? You’re tearing down my personal brand and I do not appreciate it.”

Spencer swallows. Lovett’s been pulling that personal brand around all of his insecurities since the moment Spencer met him, burying his social anxieties in a box of pizza on that fire escape in their freshman dorm. “Always good to shore up that brand every once in awhile,” Spencer jokes.

Lovett rolls his eyes, “I’m a straight shooter, remember?” and leans sideways to fiddle with the radio. He races through Party Rock Anthem and Lady Gaga, before settling on Katy Perry.

Spencer lets Lovett sing his way through the chorus before he trips over _think we kissed but I forgot_ and then Spencer lets Lovett sit, silently, through the second verse. An unwatched Lovett always boils, for Spencer, at least.

“I think, maybe, my party days are over?” Lovett sighs, dramatically, speaking louder rather than turning down the radio. “And just when I move to West Hollywood. What an absolute waste.”

“When was the last time you went to a party with any other purpose than to find true love?”

“Fuck off, I can pick up.”

“And how many nights has this one-night stand lasted?”

Lovett glares at him for the entire first verse of a Pitbull song Spencer’s embarrassed to recognize, before he admits, “four months.”

“Very pick-up culture,” Spencer agrees, deadpan. “You’re gonna fit right in with the WeHo aesthetic.”

“If the next sentence out of your mouth starts with ‘Uhaul Gay’ I’m going to-” Lovett points his finger at Spencer’s chest.

“Now that you brought it up-” Spencer muses, then sobers. “Seriously though, Jon, four months?”

“Yeah.” Lovett lets out a long, huffed laugh. “His name’s Ronan. He’s blonde and young and idealistic and he kicks my ass at Arkham City and he can quote every word of The Wrath of Kahn and, for some insane reason, he wants to be with me.” 

Lovett shrugs like it’s the most ridiculous thought in the world and Spencer reaches over to punch at Lovett’s knee, where his shorts are riding up his thighs.

Lovett sighs. “He does work at the State Department, though, so, he has that going against him.”

Spencer laughs. “Everyone has flaws.”

“Yeah.” Lovett turns his head to look out at the palm trees, his smile soft and shy. “Yeah, they do.”

**3\. Los Angeles, 2015**

“Spencer!” Lovett raises his hand, waving at Spencer from their table, half-hidden behind a pillar and the door to the kitchen. It’s the best table in the house. Ronan always gets the best table in the house, whether he wants it or not.

Spencer waves the maitre d’ away, “I think I found them,” and squeezes through the crowd of well-dressed diners to reach them.

“I’m a little underdressed,” Spencer mutters, as he falls into the seat across the table from Lovett.

Lovett waves him away. He nudges Ronan’s shoulder. “You remember Ronan, right? Ronan, this is Spencer.”

Ronan chuckles indulgently and holds out his hand. His handshake is tough, no-nonsense, such a disparity, as always, to the soft way he smiles every time he looks at Lovett. “I think everyone in the restaurant knows who Spencer is, now.”

“Besides,” Spencer shakes his head and reaches for the bottle of wine on their table when Ronan lets go of his hand, “we’ve met at least, what? Half a dozen times now?”

Ronan shrugs and nods and Lovett crosses his arms over his chest.

He turns it into a bit, though, when Jon arrives a few minutes later, looking harried and still futzing to get his wallet and his phone and his house keys into his pockets. “Sorry, sorry, I got caught up-” He falls into the chair next to Spencer. “Honestly? I was scrolling through Twitter and lost track of the time.”

Lovett laughs, his cheeks dimpling as he holds out his hand towards Spencer. “Hi, Jon. Welcome, Jon. It’s just my birthday dinner, only comes around once a year, no big deal. Have you met my friend, Spencer?”

Jon frowns, turning in his seat to look at Spencer like, maybe, he’s expecting Spencer to have morphed into a new, shinier, more exotic friend. “We’ve met,” Jon says, slowly.

Lovett laughs again, bending over his ridiculously fancy dinner plate. 

“It’s a bit,” Spencer takes pity on Jon. “He introduced Ronan and I and-”

Jon glances at Ronan, who grimaces a little, and back at Spencer. Then he grins, his face splitting into a grin to match Lovett’s. “You got me.”

Lovett grins. “Good, too.”

“You better enjoy it, cause it’s all you’re getting for your birthday,” Jon huffs, crossing his arms across his chest.

“That’s a lie,” Lovett gasps. He holds out his hands, shaking them at Jon. “Give it to me, come on.”

Jon shakes his head, uncrossing his arms to reach for the menu. “What do you think is good here? The chicken looks-”

“Boring,” Spencer muses.

“Yeah,” Jon agrees, easily. “I might get the lamb.”

Lovett scoffs and Ronan reaches under his seat to pull out a box. He kisses Lovett’s neck as he hands it over, “here, open mine.”

Lovett watches Jon for another second, then turns to smile at Ronan. He rips it open, pulling out a cashmere sweater. Lovett runs his hand over it.

“I know, I know,” Ronan says, quickly, “it’s not your style, but, I thought it might come in useful for your next pitch meeting.”

“Your next-?” Spencer starts to ask, before Jon stomps, hard, on his foot. Spencer frowns at Jon as he tilts his head, purposefully and with as little subtlety as Jon possesses, at Ronan.

“My next pitch meeting,” Lovett says, slowly and clearly, so that Spencer can’t miss the white lies slipped in-between his words. “For the movie I’ve been-” He pauses, settles on, “working on,” because that’s not, technically, a lie. 

Lovett _has_ been working on a script. If ‘working on’ includes nights spent exploring Skyrim with Spencer and days spent exploring LA with Jon inbetween spurts of staring at a blank word document. Spencer’s seen the document. He’s read - and he knows Jon has read, too - every word before it’s been discarded and rewritten.

“Thank you,” Lovett smiles, a little too big. He leans over to press a close-mouthed kiss on Ronan’s pouting lips. “It’ll come in handy.”

“If it’s not-” Ronan frowns. “I’m sure I have the receipt somewhere.”

“It’s perfect,” Lovett promises, swinging his legs over to rest them on the rung of Ronan’s chair. “Who’s next?”

“You already got mine,” Spencer holds up his hands. “Dinner, a movie, an escape room. It was a right, proper date.”

Lovett straightens his shoulders proudly, “we beat the hardest escape room in town. It’s supposed to be based off of Harry Potter, but they didn’t wanna pay Warner Brothers for the rights so- What was the name of the evil dark lord again?”

“He-Who-Has-No-Name,” Spencer supplies.

Jon snorts and Lovett laughs. Ronan twists his fingers around Lovett’s ankle and squeezes. “That’s terrible.”

“Oh,” Lovett grins. “It was horrendous. But there was this clue at the end- six wands and six colors. I had to remember all the way back to my first grade color wheel lessons. I aced it.”

“Of course you did,” Ronan says at the same time as Jon rolls his eyes, “how’d you sneak your phone in this time?”

Lovett glares at Jon before kissing Ronan’s cheek. It’s sweet, Spencer thinks, sometimes, how high a pedestal Ronan keeps Lovett on. The higher the perch, though, the longer it is to fall and, at other times, Spencer lies awake worrying about what will break when Lovett inevitably does.

“I did not,” Lovett says, indignantly. Then shrugs and glances at Spencer. “Spencer might just have an encyclopedic knowledge of first grade skills in his head. Whatever. Freak.”

Spencer taps his head, “you wanna know what else is in here?”

“No,” Lovett and Jon say in unison. Then Lovett reaches out, wiggling his fingers at Jon again, “your turn.”

Jon sighs. “Fine, fine,” and hands over an envelope. “It might be stupid. I don’t know- I wanted to get you a material thing, but, I don’t know how to wrap and-” He flushes as he shrugs.

Lovett tears open the envelope and two tickets fall out. He looks at them for a moment, then his eyes light up. “How did you get these?”

“I know a few guys,” Jon grins, then amends, “Andy knows a guy.”

Lovett flashes them at Ronan, then at Spencer. “It’s this temporary exhibit at the Griffith Observatory. It’s been selling out instantly. I’ve been wanting to go for ages.”

“I know,” Jon laughs. “You haven’t shut up about it.”

Ronan frowns. “You never said anything. If you’d wanted, I could have gotten us in.”

“I’m sure I did,” Lovett frowns. “A few times. It’s about eclipses and all the world’s religious and cultural responses to them and-”

“I know,” Jon says, cutting him off with a laugh. “I read the brochure. You are the brochure. Anyway, it’s not for a few months, yet, and the puppy will be here by then so I thought it’d be a good excuse to take him up there. Kill two birds and all that.”

Lovett smiles, broad and real. “Have you shown Ronan the puppy yet?”

Jon flushes as he pulls up the pictures on his phone. He hands his phone over. “Leo’s the one in the middle. With the red bow. He’s the smallest of the litter.”

Ronan takes the phone, and dutifully flips through the photos.

“Thank you,” Lovett mouths at Jon, pocketing the tickets carefully.

Ronan pointedly does not look up from Jon’s phone.

**4\. Los Angeles, 2016**

“No, no,” Jon shakes his head, but he's smiling a little, the mix of ‘the world is ending’ grimace and ‘the world is ending and we're _doing something_ about it’ grin that he, Tommy, and Lovett have been wearing since November 8th.

“What?” Lovett frowns, shifting onto his knee and tipping a little towards Jon so he can reach across the table for the last of the nachos. “Red States of Mind isn't a terrible name for the Pod.”

Tommy shivers. “I am not telling everyone I quit a lucrative consulting gig to start a podcast called Red States of Mind.”

Lovett points his finger at Tommy with the hand still holding the nacho. “You hated that job.” Cheese drips down his wrist and Jon doesn't look away until he catches Spencer watching him. Then he flushes, reaching for his own napkin and handing it over.

“Sure,” Tommy shrugs. “It was boring and my brain was oozing out my ears. I still need to be able to tell Hanna's parents about it.”

Lovett sobers, sinking back into his chair. His shoulders sink. “Yeah “

“Speaking of,” Tommy reaches into his pocket for his wallet. “I've gotta call home. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“In the office that is also my living room?” Jon rolls his eyes. “I don't have much of a choice but to be there.”

“That was really stupid of you,” Lovett says, trying valiantly to pick up the good mood of the dinner and not quite reaching it. “To move into Crooked Media HQ.”

Tommy laughs, obediently, and stands. He calls “think of better Pod names” on his way out.

Lovett drops his napkin to the table and turns to Spencer. “Clearing my mind is always good for creativity. Come home and distract me?”

Jon clears his throat and Spencer shakes his head.

Jon waves off coming in for a drink when they pull into Lovett's driveway - “Leo's waiting and all the money I'd usually lose to you is tied up in our company at the moment” - and starts walking down the driveway, waving behind him. He pauses at the end of the driveway, his face twisting a little, soft and insecure, as he calls, “you should talk to Ronan, you might be surprised.”

Lovett raises his middle fingers and Jon shrugs,”don't hate the truth,” turning to jog to his house.

Spencer doesn't bring it up again until their three hours and a liter of Diet Coke into Catan. He watches carefully, waiting for the perfect moment, when Lovett's won two games in a row and his shoulders have started sinking and Pundit has crawled, exhausted, into his lap.

Spencer purposefully scoffs, “longest road fucks me every time,” as he heads into the kitchen to throw popcorn into the microwave.

“There's a joke in there,” Lovett yawns, “it'll come to me.”

“I'll just mentally be writing bad ones until you do,” Spencer promises, leaning against the counter and counting seconds between kernel pops in his head.

On the table, Lovett's phone rings. Lovett shifts Pundit so he can look at the screen, then he sends it to voicemail.

Four seconds stretch between one kernel and the next and Spencer turns to take the bag out of the microwave.

Lovett's phone rings again. He silences it, this time, on the second ring and flips it upside down.

Spencer finishes pouring the popcorn into the bowl, but doesn't turn around. “It's nice to see Jon and Tommy as excited about Crooked as you are.”

Lovett snorts. “Our Pod is awesome, which you would know if you listened to a single episode of Keepin’ It 1600.”

“I get it from you and Jon directly, I don't need the filtering.”

“The filtering makes it better,” Lovett argues. “It's like workshopping my tweets. I'm better with an editor.”

Spencer frowns as he carries the bowl over and slides into his seat again. Spencer’s known, from the moment they met, just how much being friends with Lovett would be, how overwhelming, how rewarding, how much would be expected from him but how much he'd get in return. What Spencer hadn't realized on that fire escape but did, a couple weeks later when Lovett had nursed him through his freshman fever, was that Lovett is self-aware enough to know just how much he is. He hadn't said things like _I’m better with an editor_ , though, until he'd started dating Ronan and had tried to fit himself into that golden box atop that too high pedestal.

“I don't need to listen to know that this Pod is what you're meant to be doing,” Spencer says, sincerely.

Lovett's face twists and he reaches out to take an overflowing handful of popcorn. Pundit noses at a kernel he drops on the table. “I think so.”

“Me too.” Spencer narrows his eyes. “What does Ronan think of the idea?”

Lovett looks down at the table and inches another piece of popcorn towards Pundit. “He thinks that, um, that I should focus my energies on what I really want.”

Spencer frowns. “You really want this.”

“I do,” Lovett bites his lip. “But-”

He lets it hang between them, the way he does when he wants to talk, but needs the push. “I don't know, it's- I can't blame him for thinking that I still want to be a writer.”

“But you don't,” Spencer's frown deepens, he can feel the wrinkles in the middle of his forehead. Fuck, they’re both getting old. “You haven't for years now.”

“I haven't told him,” Lovett says quietly. “About not writing. About how much I miss politics. About the real reason I got Pundit.” Her ears perked up at her name and Lovett tugs at them gently.

“Jon, that's-” Spencer crosses his arms across his chest. He'd known that Lovett had been pretending with his parents, his sister, his friends back in DC, even sometimes to Tommy, but Spencer had never considered- “He's your partner. He needs to know these kinds of big, important things about you.”

Lovett swallows. “What if-?” He shakes his head, but plows on. “What if leaving DC was the biggest mistake I've ever made? What if leaving politics-?” He shrugs. “I don't know. He stayed and I didn't and who's The Ronan Farrow of the New Yorker and who's a failed sitcom writer who left the best job he's ever had to chase a dream he didn't want?”

Spencer blinks. “Lovett-”

“Sorry, sorry,” Lovett swipes his hand over his face. “This is just- this was the dream I had, when we first met and I haven't failed _exactly_ , but- I don't know. I don't know that I even care. I never even really wanted- that was always more the me I wanted him to see than the me I actually was but, it's the me he loves, now.”

“There are people,” Spencer says, slowly, meaning _me_ , meaning _Jon_ , “who know all this and still think you're kind of an okay person to spend some time with.”

Lovett scoffs, “you don't count.”

“That's awfully bold,” Spencer glares, “erasing me from existence.”

“You don't count,” Lovett continues, pointedly, “because I already kissed you and, somehow, you found the wherewithal to reject me. And Jon-” Lovett's tongue trips. “Jon is Jon.”

Spencer resists pulling at that string, like he's resisted pulled at that string for half a decade, now. “You might be surprised. Ronan might turn out to be one of those people, too.”

Lovett scrunches his nose unhappily.

“Don't you at least owe him the chance to try?” Spencer pushes.

Lovett takes a deep breath, then reaches out to reshuffle the board. “Should we pump up the difficulty this time?”

Spencer sighs and, against his better judgement, let's it drop. “Yeah. And maybe take longest road off the board?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

**5\. Los Angeles, February 2018**

Spencer doesn’t listen to the Pod. He gets the parts he likes - the hot takes and Lovett-roasting - on nights spent in Jon or Tommy or Lovett’s living room and the parts he doesn’t like - the moment-by-moment spiral down the Twitter rabbit hole he’s spent the last few years avoiding - from the group Whatsapp chain he muted six months before Hillary Clinton had even won the nomination.

When Brendan pulls him out for lunch, though, in the middle of an awfully busy week - “I cleared it with your secretary, stop giving me that look” - and drags him down to the Turner cafeteria only to shove a left iPhone earbud at him, Spencer takes note.

“What am I listening to?” Spencer asks, digging into his caesar salad.

Brendan presses play. “Just listen.”

Spencer chews through the beginning of Lovett or Leave it, mostly a rehash of opening rants Lovett had practiced on them all at the Cheesecake Factory last week. He rolls his eyes at Brendan as he reaches to take out his headphone, “you know you don't have to do his bidding.”

Brendan pushes Spencer's hand back. “This isn’t- Lovett would kill us all if he knew Favs sent me the unedited version. Keep listening.”

Spencer starts to roll his eyes but stops, mid-roll, when Lovett goes quiet, then launches into a rant about his own low energy on stage. Spencer can hear the embarrassment and self-recrimination under Lovett’s words even as he berates Elisa for pointing it out. Spencer puts down his fork so he can hear over the sounds of his own chewing and listens.

“He has been on tour a lot lately,” Spencer says, slowly, once Lovett's moved onto OK Stop.

“He has.” Brendan shrugs. “I just thought you should know.”

Spencer nods and starts scheming, which is how he ends up on Lovett's doorstep Saturday afternoon with treats for Pundit and a bag of Del Taco for Lovett.

“Spencer?” Lovett calls from the living room and the sound of fighting zombies pauses.

“How'd you know?” Spencer asks as he wipes his shoes and steps into the hallway.

Lovett scoffs. “There are only two people who can walk through the door so apologetically and you don't have Leo with you so-”

“I don't,” Spencer agrees, trying not to note the disappointed slump of Lovett's shoulders. “But I do have treats.”

Pundit's head finally rises from her perch behind Lovett and she hops down, stretching.

“At least pretend you're not so easy,” Lovett sighs at her.

Spencer holds up the Del Taco bag.

Lovett lights up and reaches for it at the same time as Pundit takes the bone from Spencer's fingers.

“Not til we're in the car. Grab a sweatshirt, come on, we're gonna be late.”

Lovett frowns. His eyes are ringed in the deepest circles Spencer's seen since the White House and his shirt twists, loose around his hips, when he sits up. Spencer kicks himself for being so wrapped up in work the past few weekends, in and around Lovett's blisteringly-paced tour schedule, that he hadn't seen the onset.

“I have a great day planned,” Lovett narrows his eyes and motions around himself. “I have video games piling up and a book to read and Pundit's missed me.”

Pundit yawns at Spencer's feet, her focus on the bone between her paws.

“Well,” Spencer shrugs, “that's fine, then. I'm just going to be waiting in the car for a few minutes with the tacos. Come join if you want.”

Lovett glares, but Spencer doesn't have to wait long before Lovett's pulling open the passenger side door, his arm only half-way into his zip-up and his sneakers untied and half on. 

“Where's the food?” He asks, wiggling his fingers for the bag.

Spencer hands it over, “like father, like daughter,” and backs out of his driveway.

Lovett perks up as they drive. He's halfway through his tacos, the juice dripping down his fingers, when he slides his feet under him and leans closer to the window, recognizing where they are. “An escape room? _The_ escape room?”

Spencer nods. “The James Bond one you've been talking about for ages. They had a cancellation, so, the guys are gonna meet us in-” He glances at the clock. “Thirty minutes.”

Lovett's eyes narrow. “You were in a hurry.”

Spencer shrugs nonchalantly, “never can tell what the traffic will be,” as he pulls up along the side of the building. He nods at the glove compartment.

Lovett grins as he pulls out the joints Spencer had rolled that morning. “Trying to butter me up for something?”

“Something like that.”

Lovett narrows his eyes, but he grabs the lighter anyway. He takes a long draw, resting his head back against the headrest and watching the smoke steam up the car windows. He hands it over, his fingers brushing with Spencer's. They're shaking a little.

Spencer takes a long pull of his own, blowing the smoke towards Lovett's ear. “Hey,” he murmurs as he hands it back over. “Whatever it is, whenever you wanna talk about it.”

Lovett folds his knees against the dash and slinks down in his chair. He looks smaller than he has in years, his curls almost as long as they were when Spencer first met him. He grabs an empty water bottle and flicks the joint against the edge, then hands it over. “Fuck.”

“I asked my budtender for the strongest they've got,” Spencer says as he takes another, long draw and feels his brain being towed under.

“Dangerous,” Lovett warns, good-naturedly, as he takes two hits in quick succession. His brow smooths and Spencer hadn't realized quite how stressed Lovett had looked, thirty seconds ago.

“I listened to the Pod,” Spencer says, letting the joint dangle between his fingers for a moment. The car's already filling nicely with smoke and he takes a deep, calming breath.

Lovett sits up so fast his knees hit the underside of the glove compartment. He swears. “What? You never- I didn't think you knew what a podcasting app was.”

“I don't,” Spencer shrugs. “Brendan made me listen.”

“Fuck,” Lovett repeats. He reaches for the joint and Spencer hands it over without taking a hit. Lovett swallows around it, his throat moving smoothly, and then he's coughing, bending forward against his knees. When he sits up, his eyes are red and watery, but he takes a second, more measured hit. “Did you learn anything? You could learn something, sometime, it wouldn't kill you.”

Spencer glares at him, feeling his head rise above water. He grabs for the joint to send himself back under. “I learned,” he says, carefully, “that your producers are willing to call you out and that, my friend, is the sign of a good producer.”

“You can't have them,” Lovett says, petulantly, then, quieter, “I haven't been sleeping much.”

“No shit.” Spencer reaches out to trace the air above the bags under his eyes.

“Fuck off, I look amazing.” Lovett sinks back into the seat, his shirt riding up over his hips. He looks skinny and his skin is a ruddy, unhealthy pink. “Give me that.”

Spencer hands it over easily and watches Lovett's throat move as he inhales then exhales on the three count.

Spencer watches and waits.

Finally, Lovett sighs, and passes it back. As their fingers brush, he takes a deep, shaky breath. “We broke up.”

Spencer's hand freezes and Lovett pulls back so quickly that Spencer has to rush to keep the joint from burning a hole in his upholstery. “When?” He asks, because he can guess the why and the how.

Lovett makes an 'o’ with his lips to pull in some the car's smoke. “A few weeks ago. A month ago. I don’t know, the days are all- It was in Europe.”

Spencer takes his time with his next hit and Lovett snaps his fingers. Spencer rolls his eyes as he hands it over.

Lovett inhales and, on the exhale, continues, “it was a long time coming.”

“Yeah.”

Lovett taps the joint against the rim of the bottle again. “Since Crooked.”

“Since before that,” Spencer corrects. “Since Anthem was cancelled.”

Lovett freezes. “Fuck.” He takes another hit then hands it over and rests his head back. He lets his eyes slip closed. “I didn't realize- fuck, you're right.”

Spencer nods. “I usually am.”

“Asshole,” Lovett accuses, without much heat. “It had been so long, how can it still be this fucking hard?”

Spencer stubs out the blunt and drops it into the bottle. He leans on his shoulder, facing Lovett. “It was a long time. You really loved him.”

Lovett breathes out, his chest moving under his hoodie. “I really did.”

“And he really loved you,” Spencer continues.

“He really loved a version of me,” Lovett corrects. “Fuck. I loved a version of him, too. He grew out of his and I-” Lovett frowns. “I grew sideways.”

Spencer laughs. “Well, I don't really know what that means, but- I think it means you're going to be okay.”

Lovett snorts.

“And someday,” Spencer says, feeling bolder than he should. He blames the hotboxed smoke still tickling his throat. “You're going to find someone who loves every version of you.”

Lovett snorts again. “I'm essentially a mid-30s gay divorcee who works Friday nights. No one wants that.”

“People do,” Spencer corrects. “A person does.”

Lovett opens his eyes, turning his chin so he can narrow them at Spencer. “Are you speaking in riddles?”

Spencer shrugs. “I think that's the weed. But, speaking of riddles-”

Lovett perks up, “James Bond,” and tumbles out of the car.

Smoke filters out behind him and he's waving it away as Brendan and Eric drive up.

“Woah, dude, save a few of those brain cells for the Escape Room,” Eric calls from his open window.

Lovett flips him off and heads inside.

**+1. Los Angeles, December 2018**

Spencer checks his phone.

"Would you like to order something, sir? We have a drink menu on the back." The waitress flips Spencer's menu over and points to the list of bottomless mimosas sympathetically.

Spencer points to the watermelon, mostly to spite Lovett when - if - he ever gets here.

Spencer checks his phone again. Nothing from Lovett, but a Best of 2018 Memes list from Eric that he loses himself in.

He's at the _My FBI Agent_ meme when he hears a commotion and looks up to see Lovett and Jon, with Pundit and Leo on their heels. The waitress is flustered as she drops the pitcher of watermelon mimosas to the table and squeezes another chair and placemat in for Jon.

Lovett doesn't apologize for a bringing a third, surprise diner. Judging by the flushed, happy tilt of his cheeks, he's not even thinking about it.

Jon, though, taps Lovett’s hip as he smiles one of the broad, blinding, off-putting smiles that has gotten them out of trouble with waiters more than a few times over the years.

Lovett sits, settling Pundit's leash around the chair legs. His eyes are all for Spencer, as he holds out his hand. "Spencer, this is Jon."

Spencer looks from Lovett to Jon, expecting to share a conspiratorial eye roll. Jon, though, is flushed and harried as he reaches for his glass and downs half of it. "Watermelon?" He grimaces.

Spencer shrugs, unrepentant.

"This is Jon," Lovett repeats the bit. "He's my-" He pauses, looking at Jon. "I knew we should have rehearsed this bit."

Jon's smile softens as he reaches over to blanket Lovett's hand. "I don't think the word matters."

Spence grins at their hands, his cheeks hurting from smiling so hard. "Finally."

"Finally?" Lovett repeats. "We tell him about the biggest news in, I don't know, at least six months, and he says _finally_."

Spencer shrugs. "Not so much news. To me, at least."

"Oh." Lovett deflates, leaning back in his chair. Jon squeezes his hand. "When?"

"When did this become not news?" Spencer laughs. "That night at the Capital bar."

"That," Jon says, slowly. Spencer's really enjoying making them both blush. "Was the first time I met you."

"Yeah." Spencer leans across the table and, taking pity on them, waves his hand to order a pitcher of something they'll drink. "Did you honestly think you were being subtle?"

"Yes." Jon's voice rises an octave. Leo sits up at his feet and tilts his head.

Lovett scratches between his ears. "It's okay, buddy. Your dad's just realizing he's been in love with me for a decade. No big deal."

"Fuck off," Jon bites, but there's no heat behind it. Just the steady, unwavering, consistent acceptance that's always been there.

"You're all ridiculous," Lovett sighs. He pushes back from the table and drops his napkin in his chair. "I'm going to the bathroom. Try not to steal any more of my thunder while I'm gone."

"Whatever you say dear," Jon calls after him. Lovett turns just long enough to flip him off with the biggest, happiest grin. Jon sighs and turns back to Spencer. "So, ahh, I suppose this is the moment where you warn me off?"

Jon's picking at the edge of his napkin, his eyes cast downward and nervous. His hair is shot through with grey and there's a decade of stress lines etched into his temples, but he looks as nervous as he did the first time Spencer met him.

"Nah." Spencer smiles. The waitress drops off a pitcher of classic mimosas and Spencer pours Jon a glass. "Here, drink."

Jon grabs for the glass gratefully, but he only takes a small sip.

"Honestly," Spencer continues, "if this goes south, you're going to be beating yourself up harder than I ever possibly could."

Jon nods. He catches Spencer's eyes, earnest and dark and full of endless nights waiting for this moment.

"Not that I'm worried about that anyway. I'll just be over here, waiting for my best man duties to begin."

Jon chokes, orange juice spluttering down his chin.

"I can't take you anywhere," Lovett sighs, falling back into his chair and scooting it closer to Jon's. He hands over a napkin. "I'm not letting you out in public without me."

"That's a deal I can live with," Jon promises. He cleans off his face and hands his glass to Lovett to share.

Lovett takes it, smiling soft and sure and easy. He looks- He looks like every Lovett Spencer has ever known. Eighteen year old Lovett, scared and anxious and desperate for a friend on that fire escape. Twenty-seven year old Lovett, twitchy and restless and so unsure of his own worth. Early-thirties Lovett, endlessly ungracious in victory and just as blindingly gracious in defeat, searching and hunting and failing to find himself. 

When Lovett smiles, he is all of those Lovetts and, as Spencer looks at Jon's face, leaning down to press a whispered kiss behind Lovett's ear, Spencer knows that Jon sees and loves all those versions of him, too.

Lovett twists, loose and comfortable and easy in his own skin, to kiss the smirk off Jon's face. "Your goal today," he orders, glancing at Spencer to encapsulate them both, "is to get me drunk enough to take advantage of me."

"Count me in for the first half," Spencer agrees.

"Count me in for everything," Jon tells him, seriously.

Lovett throws his head back as he laughs and, as Spencer surreptitiously refills their glass, he thinks, for the first time, that that just might be true.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Come say 'hi' on [tumblr](http://stainyourhands.tumblr.com/) if you wanna talk about these idiots!


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